But the mouse hurried off to the hedge and called all the surviving gentleman-spiders together:
“The one who proposes to the princess to-morrow gets her,” said she. “She’s quite altered. She’s melted. Her heart is like wax. She won’t catch any flies, won’t eat, won’t drink and just sits and stares wistfully before her. Look sharp!”
Then the mouse ran away.
But the spiders looked at one another doubtfully. Not one of them had the proper courage to risk the attempt, seeing how badly the twelve had fared, and a few even of the wiser ones went up at once and hid under their leaves, so as not to fall into temptation.
A few remained behind, who thought about what the mouse had said, including one little young, thin one, who had always listened while the others were talking about the wonderful princess, but had never said anything himself:
“I think I’ll try,” he said, suddenly.
“You?” cried all the others, in one breath.
And they began to laugh at the thought that this chap should achieve what so many a bold spider-fellow had lost his life in attempting.
But the little chap let them laugh as much as they pleased:
“I don’t suppose I’m poaching on your preserves,” he said. “There’s none of you that has the pluck. And I just feel like making the experiment. I’ve been there to look at her and, by Jove, she is a fine woman! If she’s rejected the twelve, perhaps she’ll accept the thirteenth. Also, I think the suitors went the wrong way to work.”